Liams pov
People like to believe that success feels good.
They imagine it tastes like expensive whiskey, smells like polished floors, sounds like applause. To them, success is warmth—comfort—security.
To me, it's noise. Pressure. Obligation. A thousand eyes watching, waiting for me to slip.
I walk through the glass hallway of Global Legacy's headquarters, and every head I pass lowers. Not respectfully—fearfully. People hold their breath when I look their way. They speak softer when I'm near. They scatter when my footsteps quicken.
I don't enjoy their fear, but I don't discourage it either. It keeps things efficient.
It keeps people predictable.
And predictable means safe.
The elevator doors open onto the executive floor. Becka is already waiting—clipboard in hand, hair perfect, posture straight. She smiles the way someone does when they've practiced it too many times.
"Good morning, Liam," she says, falling into step beside me.
"Morning," I reply.
She studies my face like she's searching for cracks. "Your 9:00 call with Chicago has been confirmed. The design revisions for the West Elm project are in your office. And Edward asked me to remind you that you promised to look at the Bourne contract today."
"Noted."
She walks a bit too close, matching her pace to mine. "You have a scheduled meeting with Starlight Enterprises today. Their assistant already sent the updated materials yesterday."
I stop walking.
She nearly bumps into me.
"Cancel it," I say.
Her eyes widen slightly. "Cancel… the meeting?"
"Yes."
"But you insisted we move it up. You said it needed to be handled this week."
"It won't be handled this week," I say, already turning toward my office. "Postpone it till Monday."
"But—"
"That's final."
Becka swallows whatever argument she wants to make. She nods, though her jaw tightens.
"Of course. I'll let them know."
I close my office door behind me without waiting for her to follow.
Silence greets me. The kind I need. The kind that keeps the world from clawing at me.
My desk is stacked with documents, but I barely look at them. I reach instead for the framed photograph tucked just under my monitor—a picture of Edward and me when we were kids. He has his arm around my shoulders. I'm not smiling, but he is. He always did more smiling for both of us.
The door opens without knocking.
Only one person is allowed to do that.
"Staring at the past again?" Edward says, dropping into the chair across from my desk.
"Shut up," I mutter.
He laughs. "Good morning to you too."
I lean back in my chair. "Did you come up to bother me or do you actually need something?"
"I need something," he says. "Coffee. Preferably the illegal-strength kind you keep hidden in here."
I slide the drawer open and take out the small tin.
He whistles. "God, I love you."
"That's concerning."
He grins. "Growing up with me should've prepared you for worse."
He pours himself a cup, sighs in satisfaction, then studies me with that annoyingly perceptive expression of his.
"You moved the Starlight meeting," he says.
I raise a brow. "News travels fast."
He shrugs. "Becka tells me everything. Or rather, she tells me anything she thinks involves you."
"That's not surprising."
Edward leans back, stretching his legs. "So? Why'd you postpone it?"
"I need the weekend for prep."
"No, you don't. You could walk into that meeting blindfolded and still come out on top."
"Maybe."
"Liam."
I don't answer.
Edward's tone softens. "Is this because you're meeting their assistant, Elizabeth Williams?"
I go still.
"I read her file," he says. "Thoroughly. She's not like the usual people who try to reach us. Young. Persistent. Too competent for her position."
I look away.
He smirks. "You're curious."
"I'm not."
"You postpone meetings when you're curious."
I glare at him. "Drop it."
He raises his hands in surrender. "Fine. But you can't avoid it forever. Monday isn't that far."
I hate when he's right.
He drinks his coffee and stands. "By the way… Becka's jealous."
"She's always jealous."
He pauses. "Liam… don't let her overstep. She's getting bolder."
"She won't."
Edward doesn't look convinced. "Be careful."
When he's gone, silence settles again. But it doesn't calm me this time. My mind drifts—unwanted, uninvited—to the name I keep hearing.
Elizabeth Williams.
I've never met her, but something about the way she manages things, the way she anticipates problems, the speed of her replies… there's something different there.
Too steady.
Too sincere.
People like that don't survive long in my world.
By noon, I've gone through half a dozen meetings and nearly fired three people. Not because they deserved it, but because my patience has limits and today it's thinner than usual.
Becka reappears at my door.
"Liam, I've informed Starlight about the change."
"And?"
"Leonard Lennon wants to meet in person this afternoon."
"Why?"
"He says it's urgent."
Of course he does.
I check my watch. I have time. Barely. But it's enough.
"Fine," I say. "Have the car brought around."
Becka beams like she arranged the whole world for me. "Yes. Of course."
She doesn't leave right away. Instead she takes one step inside my office, fingers drifting along the spine of a binder.
"You've been distracted lately," she says softly.
"I've been busy."
"That isn't what I meant."
I look up.
Her eyes are too warm. Too hopeful. Too possessive.
"This job demands focus," she murmurs. "And I'm here to help you with anything. You know that."
"Becka," I say, voice firm, "your job is to manage my schedule. That's all."
She flinches.
Just slightly—but enough.
"Yes, Liam," she whispers.
She closes the door behind her.
I exhale, irritation prickling at the back of my neck. Attachments make people sloppy. Emotional interference is worse than inefficiency. It's dangerous.
Love?
No.
Not after what happened last time.
Not after trusting someone who used me, lied to me, betrayed me.
I grab my coat and head out.
Starlight Enterprises is twenty minutes away. I'll get Leonard to clarify what's so "urgent," and then I'll go home. There's nothing more to it.
Nothing at all.
The rain has stopped by the time I step out of the elevator onto Starlight's executive floor. The space is quieter than mine—smaller, softer, less polished. A place that still believes in second chances.
Across the room, a young woman is sorting papers at her desk, her movements steady and practiced. She doesn't look up when I enter.
But I know instantly who she is.
Elizabeth Williams.
Something in my chest tightens. Irritatingly.
She turns at the sound of footsteps, and for a moment—just a moment—her eyes widen when she sees me. Not in fear. Not in awe.
Recognition. Surprise. A flicker of nerves.
Then she straightens her shoulders.
"Good afternoon," she says, voice steady.
I don't speak.
I just study her.
She meets my gaze without looking away. That shouldn't get under my skin, but it does.
Before I can say anything, Leonard bursts out of his office.
"Mr. Smith. Thank you for coming."
Elizabeth steps aside, but her presence lingers at the edge of my awareness. Too quiet. Too grounded.
I follow Leonard into his office. The door shuts behind us.
He looks nervous.
Good.
We talk business. Numbers. Projections. Tension builds, then settles. The conversation isn't long.
When it ends, he exhales like he's survived something.
As I leave, Elizabeth stands to give me space. She doesn't fidget. She doesn't shrink. She simply nods once, respectful but not submissive.
Something about that… sticks.
Then the elevator door closes and I'm gone.
I don't go home right away.
I should. That's the plan. Leave Starlight, shake off the meeting, forget the strangely steady gaze of the woman sitting outside Leonard's office.
But I don't.
Instead, I end up in the parking lot leaning against the side of the car, staring at the sky like I'm trying to clear my head with fresh air. It doesn't work. My thoughts stay crowded, unsettled.
I should be thinking about the numbers, the projections, the way Leonard couldn't quite hide his desperation. But instead, every few seconds, my mind drags me back to her.
Elizabeth Williams.
There was something unsettling about the way she held herself—calm, collected, even while clearly overwhelmed. People don't normally look at me the way she did. Not with fear. Not with awe. Not with rehearsed politeness.
Just… acknowledgment. Like I was another human being walking into her space, not a CEO who could crush her company with a sentence.
It's unnerving.
I get into the car. Becka is in the front passenger seat, pretending she wasn't watching me through the window.
"Productive meeting?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Leonard seemed nervous when I walked by earlier. I hope he didn't waste your time."
"He didn't," I say curtly.
She softens her voice. "You know you can trust my judgment. I would never let anyone trouble you."
This again.
"Becka," I say, "drop it."
Her lips tighten. "Of course."
The car starts moving. The city blurs past the windows, and I try not to think. But thoughts creep back anyway—quiet, persistent, unwanted.
Elizabeth's voice.
Her steady posture.
The way she didn't try to impress me.
The way she didn't try to shrink.
A problem, that's what she is.
Not because she's a threat, but because she's not.
People are easy to sort when they want something. But a person who doesn't immediately show their angle—that's harder. It sticks in the mind.
When we reach my penthouse, I dismiss Becka before she follows me inside. She hesitates, clearly wanting to stay.
"You're done for the day," I say.
Her expression flickers with disappointment. "Right. Goodnight, Liam."
I close the door before she can add anything more.
Silence swallows the room. The kind I usually crave.
But tonight, it rings differently. Too empty. Too sharp.
I loosen my tie, run a hand through my hair, and throw my jacket over the back of a chair. The city lights glow through the tall windows—white, gold, distant.
My phone buzzes.
Edward.
EDDIE:
Starlight meeting go well?
I type back:
ME:
Fine.
A second later:
EDDIE:
Translation: you hated everyone.
Except maybe one person?
My jaw tightens.
Edward likes to push. He likes to pry. He likes to pretend he can read people better than me. And annoyingly, sometimes he can.
I don't reply.
He sends another:
EDDIE:
Just don't break her.
I stare at the screen.
Break her?
People break themselves. I just don't cushion the fall.
I turn the phone facedown and walk away from it.